


into the white snow (red as strawberries in the summertime)

by AceMoppet



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt No Comfort, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Angst, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Nonbinary Jaskier | Dandelion, Other, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Second Person, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Self-Esteem Issues, Stream of Consciousness, Suicidal Thoughts, The Geralt and Jaskier here could be either platonic or romantic tbh, Unreliable Narrator, Yeah this is not happy folks, please mind the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28445574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/pseuds/AceMoppet
Summary: The fire crackles on, and still, you are cold.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 11
Kudos: 81
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge Winter 2020





	into the white snow (red as strawberries in the summertime)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this is a bit angstier than my usual fare- please check the tags before you read this! It’s not the darkest thing I’ve ever written, but it’s darker than usual, so go read the tags first!
> 
> I had an absolute blast with this flash fic round- kudos to the Master of Ceremonies who put this together! It’s not what I expected I’d do, but the fingers write what they want to write, right?
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!

The fire crackles. Despite its warmth, you are still cold, freezing at your core.

_It’s the frost,_ you think hazily, watching snowflakes catch and melt on your cloak. The world is soft and silent, almost deathly in its whiteness, and you can’t help but want to smother yourself in it if only to squeeze out the ever-present ache in your chest.

There’s a clatter. You look up to see your… friend? Ex-friend? Whatever he is, he throws some wood onto the fire and stokes it. The sparks shoot up higher, and he hums. You think he’s pleased, but you’re trying not to assume things of him anymore- that had been your first great mistake in following him.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night,” he says eventually, brushing the dirt off his thighs before he gets up. He turns to you, frowning. “Where’s Ciri?”

“With Yennefer,” you say, wincing as your lips, dry and cracked with cold, catch on each other. “They’re practicing magic down by the water.”

He scowls. “There could be monsters there,” he says, glaring at you. He’s likely accusing you of… not holding them back? Ha, as if you, little shivering human, could ever hold the two of them back- you’d have much better luck grasping at the tail of a newly-risen firebird. 

You shrug. “Yennefer seemed confident enough,” you say, “and it’s not drowner season, is it?”

Geralt growls and grabs his sword. “Stay here,” he orders over his shoulder. You hum- maybe he hears it, maybe he doesn’t. Whatever the outcome, he doesn’t acknowledge you and is out of sight in barely a second.

And you are alone.

You stare at the fire. It’s leaping, licking the cold air eagerly, and you’re drawn to its passion. 

Fires don’t have emotion, and yet you can swear that in this moment, the fire has more emotions than you do.

You breathe around the ache in your chest and pull your fingers closer. The fog of your breath reminds of you of a dragon, and, as all routes lead to empires long gone, your mind trips, stumbles, and happily falls back to Caingorn’s mountain.

Some part of you will always be frozen there. You wish you could move on, wish you could turn the page on it, but part of you will remain locked on that mountaintop, listening to words you’ve gotten engraved on your soul. 

You play it again- the ache in your chest swells, but it is less than before. Hm, it seems that you’ve been leeching the pain out of it with every repetition. For any other instance, you’d be glad, but it is the last thing you want here. 

How can you keep yourself in check if you forget how much it hurt to throw yourself out?

Emotions and vulnerability are a bard’s bread and butter- slather on that sweet sadness into a song and watch the masses eat it up, _especially_ if you can give them a heart-wrenching performance too. And you- you are one of the best bards. You pour yourself into every little note, every twang, every _word-_ it’s why your name is known everywhere from Nilfgaard to Kaedwen.

You need to be vulnerable, but vulnerability here will get you killed.

Ok, perhaps not killed, but hurt for sure.

...You’re not making any sense, are you?

Ok, from the top then.

One: you are a bard. You are decently competent at things besides singing and performing and playing- you can defend yourself and one other if need be, you can cook, you can haggle. All road and life skills. 

Two: You had a friend- wait no. 

Scrap that.

Two: You followed a Witcher. You _thought_ you had a friend, but you were made aware of your mistake, and you’ve spent the last couple of years trying to move on. It’s been difficult, but you were almost there until…

Three: A Witcher, a sorceress, and a lost princess walked into a tavern. Sounds like the set up for a joke- unfortunately, you’re the punch line because they were looking for you. 

“A liability,” Yennefer had called you. “You know too much, and Nilfgaard will be after you soon.”

“They’re not a liability!” Cirilla had protested, cheeks flushed in indignation. Sweet girl. “But, please. Come with us? You’ll be safe, we promise!”

“Hm,” Geralt had said. He looked at you. You’d kept your eyes on Cirilla, but you knew he was looking at you then. You didn’t want to look at him.

“I need time,” you’d said, trying not to twitch under the stares of the almighty motley crew in front of you.

“We leave at dawn,” Geralt had said finally. It had been dusk.

This brings us now to…

Four: You are now traveling with a Witcher, a sorceress, and a princess on the run. It’s the most tiring ordeal you’ve ever been through- you’ve grown old, and now your knees and elbows ache at even the slightest hint of rain. Perhaps if your party had set a more leisurely pace, you could have kept up with gusto- as it is, you’re all walking from dawn until just after dusk before you even try to set up camp. 

You try your best, you really, _really_ do.

But five: You’re slowing them down. You can hear it in the way Yennefer and Geralt argue after they think you and Cirilla are asleep. You can see it in the way Geralt frowns at you all the goddamn time now- even before you’d worn your welcome with him, you didn’t ever garner this much irritation. Nowadays, you’re practically marinating in a mixture of Cirilla’s worry, Yennefer’s exasperation, and Geralt’s constant, _constant_ frowning.

You dig your fingers into the snow and try not to scream.

Six: You are a bard. But more importantly now, you are a _human._ An aging human too, someone who is, like Yennefer said, a “liability”. You cannot keep up no matter how hard you try, but they cannot leave you behind either, lest Nilfgaard captures you for information.

It’s a burden, knowledge. If you believed in the goodwill of wishes, you’d wish that you didn’t know things- as it is, you know better than to wish, so there’s the conundrum. 

It all boils down to this: You are human. You are the liability, the burden, the weak link of the group. You cannot add to that by confiding how you feel to anyone here.

Cirilla is a child- you wouldn’t confide anything to her, the poor dear’s got so much going on. She doesn’t need to hear about how you wish you could just bury yourself into this damned snow and never turn up again.

Yennefer is a mage- if she doesn’t know already from skimming your mind, then she doesn’t need to know. You may trust her with Cirilla and Geralt, but you do not trust her with yourself- it’s nothing personal, since she doesn’t trust you either.

And Geralt?

Well…

Once upon a time, you would have trusted Geralt. The man is shit with emotional support, at least when it comes to you, but he at least always offered a shoulder, or a waterskin after a good, long cry. He’s harmless, you thought.

You don’t now.

See, Geralt is wicked smart. He’s always cataloging the world, analyzing it into little pieces to keep both himself and the others around him safe. He finds the weaknesses in the world and stores them carefully in his mind, and is always, _always_ ready to exploit them.

You knew this before, you just didn’t think he’d exploit your weaknesses too.

You pull your fingers out of the snow- they are numb now, and red like strawberries. You idly wish you had some- ah well, maybe next summer if you’re still alive by then.

So that’s it, really- you’re a squishy vulnerability, a nerve trying to numb itself in snow so that no hit can harm you. Is it the healthiest way? Gods no- repression is not only bad for the bardic business, it’s bad for the health. Look at Geralt, for gods’ sake.

But it is the only way you’ve got.

You hear them coming up now- Cirilla’s bright chatter clatters around the snowy clearing like tap shoes, and underneath that is Yennefer’s slipper-soft murmuring. And though you can’t hear it, you just know Geralt is there too, marching away silently in his Witcher boots as he eyes the edges of the forest for danger.

They come into view then, all at once, a pretty tableau. Cirilla’s hand is in Yennefer’s, while Yennefer has tucked her other arm into Geralt’s, who leads them gently across the snow.

They’re a perfect family, you think, and the ache in your chest swells so quickly it cuts your breath off. Even as you struggle to breathe normally, you commit this feeling to memory. You need to remember that you don’t belong here, that you will be gone as soon as it is safe for everyone involved.

“Jaskier!” Cirilla calls, barreling into camp with bright eyes. “Will you play a song for us?”

Your fingers are still strawberry-red with cold. “Of course, princess,” you say, picking up your lute.

The fire crackles on, and the camp is full of people once more. And still, you are cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier’s an extremely unreliable narrator right here. The gang do not see them as a burden, and their actions and words mean other things. Geralt, for example, keeps frowning at Jaskier because he’s not sure how to patch up things with them, and also because Jaskier’s not acting like their bubbly self- they’re polite but distant, and Geralt can’t help but feel guilty. Yennefer said the “liability” thing so that Jaskier would have to come along- not the most morally good thing, but eh she’s Yen, she’ll do the most effective thing to keep her family safe. She doesn’t actually see Jaskier as a burden, and doesn’t think that Jaskier would see themself as a burden.
> 
> Also Jaskier’s not actually slowing them down- they’re actually making pretty good time.


End file.
